


fire and water

by erebones



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-15 03:29:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17521160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erebones/pseuds/erebones
Summary: A collection of widofjord ficlets from tumblr prompts.





	1. things you said that i wasn't meant to hear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb overhears a private conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for cyan-titan and qshadenfreude

The open road. Caleb almost missed it. There’s a certain drudgery to it that’s comforting in its familiarity. One foot in front of the other, the clop of hooves and creak of the wheels. The landscape passing by so slowly you hardly realize it until you look up and the mountains that were all around you have faded into a line of blueish-grey behind you.

Strangely, he also missed the rhythm of setting up camp and selecting the watch for the night. Some of the others complain half-heartedly, but he likes sitting up while almost everyone else is asleep, copying quietly in his spellbook or just watching the stars glint overhead. Sometimes small wildlife will dart past their bubble, curious and afraid, or just plain curious, blinking their little button-black eyes at him through the faint film. The fire crackles low, casting shadows, and the peace and quiet of it fills his bones with rest in a way that sleep rarely does.

Their uneven numbers means everyone gets a night off on a fairly regular basis, and the second night out of the Menagerie Coast is his. He drops off fairly quickly thanks to a dose of chamomile tea from Caduceus, but his body, accustomed to being roused partway through the night, jerks awake in the chill, wee hours of the morning. The moon is peeking from behind the trees and he can smell frost on the ground, thicker each morning as they work their way north. The fire is little more than coals. He thinks idly about nudging his way closer to it, trying to soak up some of the heat—and then he hears voices.

“...I’m trustworthy, I swear.” Beau, her voice uncharacteristically soft, taut with sincerity.

“I know you are.” Fjord, pitched lower, the familiar twang of his vowels strangely absent. “Why do you think I told you… what I did?”

In the pocket of silence that follows, Caleb’s heart rate ratchets up to maximum and he feels his palms begin to sweat. What had Fjord told her? What had he confided in her that none of the rest of them knew? He is keenly aware, suddenly, of his position by the fire—through half-sunk lashes he can see them sitting outside the bubble, perched on some scattered boulders, knee to knee and heads bowed close. If he moved so much as a muscle he could be discovered.

“You know I like to… know things,” Beau says.

“Yeah. For your little group of punching scholars, right?”

“No! Well, yes, but.” She rubs the back of her neck, the bare stretch of her arm licked with firelight. “Some stuff isn’t _for_ them. Personal stuff. I’m just… a nosy bitch, I guess.”

“Well.” Fjord swallows, brow furrowed and fingers laced together between his knees. He sits oddly in his own skin, like the steadiness of solid ground doesn’t fit beneath his feet. “Now you know.”

“Is there anything I can… do?” Beau venture at last. “Believe me, man, I know how much it sucks to feel that shit without any outlet.”

Fjord’s shoulders heave in a silent laugh—or maybe a sigh. “I think just telling you helped. I know it’s foolish to… hope. For anything. We’re all rubbin’ shoulders constantly, in the thick of battle more often than not, I don’t want to… upset the balance.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean.” Beau plucks a dry strand of grass from its sheath and sticks it in her mouth, then makes a face when she realizes how dry and dead it is and spits it back out. Caleb bites his lip to keep from laughing. “Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think he’d be… opposed. Confused, yeah, he’s kind of convinced he’s a shitstain no matter how many times I try to tell him otherwise.”

Caleb’s mouth goes dry and tight. He’d been half-convinced they were talking about Jester, and yet—

“I know.” Fjord’s got a deep furrow in his brow and his voice is so laden with grief that the back of Caleb’s throat prickles. “I wish there was somethin’ I could do.”

“So do we all, mate.” Beau claps her hand on his shoulder. “Listen, he’s gonna figure his shit out eventually, with or without our help. We’re all kind of intertwined, yeah? So we’ll be there for him when the time comes. And you… maybe you’ll be done with it by then, but maybe not. And if not, then… you can make your move.”

“My _move_ ,” Fjord echoes, a quiet scoff, but a tiny smile touches his mouth nonetheless. “We’ll see. Thanks, Beau. I appreciate your words of wisdom.”

“Pff. Sure, whatever man.” She elbows him and stands, stretching her arms over her head. “I gotta piss. Don’t fall asleep on me.”

“I won’t.” With a fond expression, Fjord leans back against the boulder and tips his head to the sky. Still paralyzed with shock, and buzzing slightly with a strange, untamed energy that he doesn’t know what to do with, Caleb watches him from behind his lashes—watches the fiddle of his anxious fingers, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way the firelight licks into the hollow of his throat like a lover.

And together they wait for morning.


	2. things you said when we were the happiest we ever were

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for losebetter <3

“I still can’t believe it.”

Fjord’s hands slow on the buckles of his armor and he catches Caleb’s eye in the mirror. “Can’t believe what?”

“That all of this is ours.”

With smudged, dreamlike motions, Caleb drops to the bed and flops onto his back, arms spread like he’s trying to embrace the whole room. The ceiling that arches overhead seems to smile back at him, the enchanted rafters shining sunlight through pale green leaves as though it’s summer and not the middle of a Zemnian winter. Fjord smiles and continues to work on his armor.

“We’ve earned it by now, I think. _You_ have earned it.” With a pointed look in the glass, Fjord sets his armor aside onto its rack and drags his damp shirt over his head. He can see Caleb’s reflection eyeing him appreciatively—and that’s still a strange feeling, being comfortable under such adoring scrutiny. Whatever shame he once carried dissolve somewhere along the way, and now lies buried in a grave dug by a pair of flame-scarred hands. Filled to the brim with affection, Fjord tugs his boots off and pads barefoot to the bed. “Budge up, handsome.”

Caleb squints at him and stays put. “Make me.”

Fjord pounces. Underneath him, Caleb squirms and laughs and grabs at his arms, but makes no real attempt to escape—the creases of joy in his face just press deeper, imprinting themselves into his skin, replacing worry and fear with happiness. Overcome, Fjord reaches for him and rests their foreheads together. “Hey.”

“Hmm?” A little breathless, Caleb stills beneath him, content to let Fjord straddle his waist for the time being. “Yes, my love?”

Fjord shuts his eyes. Inexplicably, he feels a tell-tale tightness behind his eyes, at the back of his throat. “Cay…”

“ _Schatz_? What is it?”

Fjord combs his claws through Caleb’s beard and kisses him, too overwhelmed to form proper sentences. His lover kisses back happily enough, but there’s a reticence to him, a careful holding-back; when they part, Caleb’s slate-blue eyes have softened to grey, and his hands have found their way to Fjord’s shorn temples.

“Sorry,” Fjord whispers before Caleb can press his earlier question. “I just… I’m happy. That’s all.”

Caleb’s face crumples in a smile and he wraps his arms around Fjord’s neck, pulling him back down into a kiss. “I’m glad,” he murmurs against his lips when they part. “I’m glad you like the house.”

“It’s more than just the house, sweetheart.” Fjord rolls off him and sprawls against his side instead, soaking up his warmth like a cat in a patch of sun. “You did an amazing job with it, obviously, I just meant… I don’t know what I meant.” He spreads a hand possessively over Caleb’s chest, working it between the open plackets of his shirt to feel bare skin. Caleb’s heartbeat is steady and strong under his touch, and a moment later he feels lips graze his forehead, over the scar that bisects his left eyebrow. “I love you,” he says, quietly. A bit embarrassed.

“ _Ich liebe dich_ , Fjord,” Caleb whispers. His hand finds Fjord’s and laces their fingers together. “So much. I’ll build this house for us every night, even when we’re old and grey and no longer adventuring, just to see the look of wonder on your face.”

Fjord sniffs a bit. “I’m pretty sure I look at you like that all the time, darlin’, house or no house.”

“ _Ja_ , that is true. You spoil me.”

“ _I_ spoil _you_? You built us an entire mansion with your _mind_ , Caleb!”

“Mostly for you,” Caleb corrects. “I mean, for all of us, _ja_ , but I was thinking of you when I did it. Of us.”

Fjord’s heart twists deep inside his chest and he shuts his eyes, shoving his face into the crook of Caleb’s neck. “Does that mean you have the power to keep our door locked for the next, oh, three hours?”

Caleb shakes with silent laughter. “I can do that, _ja_. Or we could be old-fashioned and just put a sock on the handle.”

With a little growl in the back of his throat, Fjord surges up and pins Caleb to the mattress again as the room echoes with laughter. “I’ll show you _old-fashioned_ ,” he mutters, and proceeds to do just that.


	3. things you said when you thought i was asleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for Queenshadenfreude <3

Fjord is stirred awake sometime in the middle of the night. His seaman’s clock tells him it’s well after midnight, but not yet dawn—in another hour, perhaps, the sky will be lit at the fringes with predawn grey, creeping slowly into pink and gold as the sun begins another day. He swallows away the dryness in his throat and lays still, heavy with sleep, waiting to fall back into slumber.

Then he feels it. The thing that woke him. Fingers in his hair, feather-light, tracing the silver streak that spills back from his temple in increasingly thicker strands. He doesn’t remember having it, before… before. And traveling with the Nein has not exactly made it inclined to dwindle. Caleb calls his premature grey _dashing_ , with a warm, approving sparkle in his eye. Fjord smiles a little at the memory and considers rolling over into his lover’s lap.

“Fool,” Caleb mutters suddenly, and Fjord has to fight the urge to flinch and betray himself. “You complete and utter fool.”

Fjord’s heart is suddenly racing. His face is partially buried in the pillow, nose to Caleb’s thigh—he must be sitting up in bed. His arm is slung over Caleb’s thigh, warm and sturdy. He wonders how long Caleb has been awake. Wonders what demons he wrestles with tonight.

“This is all your fault, you know that?” Caleb whispers. To a human it would be barely audible, but each syllable falls crystal clear into Fjord’s ears, magnified by the late (early?) hour and the dark stillness of the room. “Impossible man.”

 _He’s talking to me_ , Fjord realizes, adrenaline clearing the last of the cobwebs from his mind. _Or… at me. About me?_

“It hurts me to look at you sometimes, do you know that?” Caleb continues, still so soft, still accompanied by the gentle strokes of his fingers through Fjord’s hair. “You’re so handsome, and kind, so quick to laugh… I am so dour by comparison. A… what does Beau say? A stick in the mud.”

Fjord tries not to wince, though the majority of the expression would be masked by the pillow. Beau had used the term just that day, when Caleb resisted being dragged out on the town in favor of spell-copying, even when Fjord asked him very sweetly. Fjord had been disappointed, but he understood. Caleb needed… quiet, sometimes. He had tried very hard not to be offended when his offers to stay and keep him company were rebuffed, and Caleb made up for it later when Fjord returned to their room, halfway to sloshed and even more touchy-feely than normal. Fjord nearly purrs to remember it.

“I am sorry.” Caleb sounds nearly hoarse, like he’s parched for water. “You are such a bright creature, my love… you deserve better.”

He wants to reply—gods, he wants nothing more than to protest Caleb’s low opinion of himself. But he is paralyzed by the endearment. They’ve been tender with each other for some time now, and more physical for a few weeks as they figure out their boundaries and desires, and Fjord has never been so blissfully happy. Sure, the occasional confession or declaration will well up in him sometimes, ready to burst forth at the slightest provocation, but he always swallows it down, convinced that it’s too soon. Caleb’s rough edges need care and patience, and Fjord is happy to give him both.

But now… now he’s not so sure.

“I hold my breath sometimes,” Caleb whispers, “waiting for you to realize you’ve made a mistake… and you _will_ realize it, someday, Fjord. But the longer it takes, I think the more it will hurt. And yet… I am too selfish to part with you.” A wet, sniffling sigh. “I am very far gone on you, Fjord. I suppose I will have to enjoy what time with you I am given, and not be greedy for more.”

Fjord can’t bear it anymore. His chest aches like a giant’s hammer has split it in two, a thousand pleas and platitudes rising uselessly to his lips. Instead of blurting them all out at once, though, he shift up and wraps his arm around Caleb’s waist, holding firm when Caleb gasps and goes still.

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere,” Fjord says, thick with emotion. He kisses Caleb’s ribs through his sleep shirt—still too prominent for his liking, but not as gaunt as he once was—and buries his face there after, seeking the heat of his heartbeat with his cheek.

“Fjord—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to hear—”

“I know. I’m sorry I heard it. But…” He lets him go, finally, and pushes himself up to sitting. Caleb’s face is terrified in the dimness, glinting suspiciously wet beneath the eyes. Fjord reaches out, thumb to Caleb's cheek, and wipes the tears away. “I’m glad I did, so I could tell you how wrong you are.”

Caleb chokes on humorless laughter. “Wrong about what?”

“Nothing about you—about _us_ —is a mistake.” Fjord leans their foreheads together and cradles him there, weak with relief when Caleb doesn’t fight him or try to pull away. “I love you. I’m sorry I haven’t said it before—I thought maybe you needed more time. But I’m sick of hidin’ it from you, and it’s high time you knew anyway. You mean the world to me, darlin’, and I’ll be here at your side until you turn me away.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Caleb says like a warning, a signal fire flashing on a hill.

“Good.” Fjord kisses him, soft and shallow, and feels his ribs start to knit themselves back together with relief when Caleb kisses back.

They end up laying down together, not spooning like they’d been before, but face to face, Fjord still cradling his cheek and Caleb with his arms around Fjord’s waist, knees knocking and feet tangled in the shoved-down covers. Fjord kisses his nose and gets a soft, hesitant smile in return.

“Do you really love me?” Caleb whispers shyly.

“More than I know the words to say.” Another kiss, feeling the slight scrape of Caleb’s mustache against his upper lip. His growing tusks knock with Caleb’s teeth and he tries to pull back, but Caleb just grips his shirt and kisses him with more determination.

“Will you tell me again tomorrow?” he whispers when they part.

“First thing in the morning,” Fjord promises. “And every day after that. Just in case you forget.”

“I never forget anything,” Caleb demurs, but his eyes are soft and grateful in the dark. He sighs and burrows his head beneath Fjord’s chin. “ _Ich liebe dich_ , Fjord.”

Fjord hums and rubs a broad hand up his back, up the curve of his spine and down again, cradling him close. “I love you. Now go to sleep, darlin’. We got a few hours left ’til morning.”


	4. things you said at the kitchen table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domestic fluff for my lovely jaz <3

“One, two, three, hup!”

From his seat at the kitchen table, where several ancient spellbooks rested in various states of decay, Caleb peered over the rims of his glasses into the living room. There was a distant, delighted shriek, and then a small green blur plummeted into Fjord’s arms as if from a great height. Physically impossible, technically, but a great many laws of physics could be circumvented with a little clever spellwork.

“Don’t break our son’s skull open, Fjord,” he calls, pitching his voice to be heard over the raucous giggling of a toddler and his husband’s deeper, richer laughter.

“He’s fine!” Fjord says over his shoulder. “Featherfall bracelet. Ready for another?”

“Again, again!” Van hollers. Obediently, Fjord loosens his knees and hefts him up into the air—lower this time, with a quick glance into the kitchen. Caleb shakes his head and bends back over his work with a smile.

It’s delicate and precise, and normally he enjoys the work—restorting old scrolls takes infinite amounts of patience and a deft, steady hand—but today he finds himself more distracted than usual. He thinks again, idly, of taking his work down into the study and barring the door… but that would mean not being within ear and eyeshot of the two people he loves most in the world, and he finds the thought unbearable.

With a sigh and a wave of his hand, he conjures a bubble of stasis and pushes his glasses up into his hair. As if summoned by his surrender, he hears the quick patter of feet and nearly staggers as Van barrels into him with a shriek of glee. Caleb lets out a soft _umph_ and braces himself against the counter. “ _Hallo_ , my little munchkin. Have you had your fill of being thrown into the air for today?”

“Papa, I want _you_ to throw me now!” Van declares, staring up at him with pleading silver-blue eyes. He wrinkles his nose up when Caleb tweaks it. “ _Please_?”

“Darling, you know your old papa is not strong enough to throw you around like your Dad.” Still, Caleb bends down and hefts Van’s not-inconsiderable weight into his arms. He’s getting heavier every day, it seems, but Caleb vows that he won’t resort to magic until his body absolutely refuses to pick up his son. He smothers a kiss to Van’s sweet-smelling curls and sighs.

“Bet you could do it with magic,” Van says, but he wraps his arms around Caleb’s neck and clings to him like a limpet, apparently content to take a break. He’s sweaty and warm with exertion in Caleb’s hold, heartbeat thrumming in his chest, cheek sticky against Caleb’s neck.

“I probably could,” Caleb agrees gravely. “How about I find just the right spell and we can try it tomorrow?”

“Okay!”

Van submits to being held and kissed a little while longer and then starts to wriggle again. Caleb releases him with promises to go out to the spigot and wash up for dinner, and when he straights up from letting him down, Fjord is there, hands curving around his waist and shoulders stooped for a kiss.

Caleb hums against his mouth and leans into him a little after, smiling at the sound of Van yelping and hopping under the cold water. “I told him to wash up, not _bathe himself_ ,” he mutters without a drop of real ire.

“Probably for the best. It’ll get his clothes washed, too.” Fjord turns away a little, one hand still possessive on Caleb’s waist. “Did you make much progress today?”

“Not really,” Caleb confesses. “But that’s all right.”

“You should’ve asked me to take him outside.”

Caleb just shakes his head. A few swift gestures, and the books and scrolls on the table vanish, transported safely to his workshop in the basement. “I couldn’t bring myself to. You’re so good with him, Fjord. It’s a joy to watch.”

Fjord chuffs and presses a kiss to his nape, one hand sliding warm and comfortable around his waist. Barely the suggestion of a tug, and Caleb leans back, hands braced on the kitchen table as he rests his weight against his husband. “You’re good with him too, you know.”

“ _Ja_ , but I cannot roughhouse with him the way you can.” He grimaces, thinking of the way his hip aches in cold weather. The way his hands tremble sometimes, despite his best efforts to calm them. “And, you know. You are… you have the same blood. I am glad he has you to look up to, that’s all.”

“The same blood?” Fjord echoes, more bemused than anything.

“I just mean… well. You know what I mean.” Caleb turns in his loose grasp and cups his face in his hands, thumbs brushing idly against the scars there. Faded with time, a little, but still incredibly dashing. “I remember, early on, you told me you’d never met another half-orc. How it… affected you. I’m just glad he has you to look up to. Someone so kind and good who looks like him.” He touches his fingertips to the thin, warm skin of Fjord’s crow’s feet, watching them crinkle in a smile. “Someone to make him… not feel so alone.”

“You’re gonna make me tear up, darling,” Fjord mumbles. He rests their foreheads together and holds him close with a little sigh. “I’m glad, too. But just remember this is a two-man job. He has a lot to admire and look up to in _you_ , too. Cleverness, and determination, and a forgiving heart…”

“ _Fjord_.”

“What? I fell in love with those things in you a long time ago, Caleb. It’s fitting that they should play such an important part in the raising of our son.”

Caleb finds himself blinking back tears as he leans up to kiss his husband. Two years with Van, almost three, and the words _our son_ still fills him with such unaccountable joy that he doesn’t know how to contain it.

Outside, the splashing water stops and Frumpkin’s disconcerted yowl echoes across the yard. Caleb drops back onto his heels with a wet little laugh. “We should get dinner started, hmm?”

“Yeah. Good idea.” Eyes warm, Fjord leans down and steals one more kiss. “You rescue the cat, I’ll start cooking.”

Caleb takes a steadying breath, nods, and makes for the front door. He feels the warmth of his husband’s hands on his waist all the way there.


End file.
